Fade
by LJ-1983
Summary: What if the humanised Cenobite Prince had survived following the slash to the throat...if only for a little while? An alternate ending to Hellraiser II, and a possible lead up and beginning for Hellraiser III. Co-written with Rurrlock-God of Power. One Shot.


_Author Introduction: I was intending to use this following piece as a prologue chapter for my upcoming Alternate Hellraiser III story, and it was going to be an explanation as to how Pinhead ended up in the pillar at the end of HR2. But I have since decided to ditch that idea, seeing as the more I think about it, the more it seems inevitable that Pinny would have ended up in the pillar anyway. I'll be going with a different prologue now for the fic, but I still thought I'd share this with you all anyways, as it was sitting around my doc manager doing nothing when others could read it. My boyfriend helped to write the first draft, and I fleshed/edited, and added on anything I thought needed to be added. We both hope you enjoy it. As for my HR3 fic? Well, I'm not sure when I'll be publishing that. I need to research a lot for the plot and subplots, for starters. Just keep your eyes open for them. :) For now, enjoy this. Review = Love. - Laura_

* * *

**Fade**

The Order was in utter chaos.

Everything he had ever known was violently stolen from him and brought into question; his identity, his position...his very existence.

He had believed himself to be a son of this realm for as long as time itself had existed; a teacher, an explorer, a conductor, bringer of the extremities. But no; that was a fine lie, and long buried memories were proof of that. Memories of another lifetime, his _human_ lifetime, washed over him, flooding and threatening to drown him.

All that he had ever known, his entire world, his reason for being, had crumbled in the blink of an eye. One moment, he was Leader of the Order of the Gash, second only to Leviathan. Yet now he found himself choking on his own blood which spurted from an immense laceration to his throat.

_'How did it come to this?'_ he thought, clasping his hand over the gushing wound, in a futile attempt to stem the bleeding to the best of his ability.

He could still perfectly picture Kirsty Cotton's face. The glint in her eyes was unmistakable, and the fire behind them never quelled, even when faced with the horrid monstrosity that was Channard. Despite the confusion he felt, the existential crisis he was suddenly overcome with, he had vowed to stand before the Cotton girl, protecting her from Leviathan's newest creation. Perhaps it was a way for him to show gratitude for revealing his true self.

_Gratitude_. A_ human_ emotion. He hadn't felt that in decades.

Decades? How long had he existed? Everything that he thought he knew was wrong. His perception on his very existence was shattered. Now, stripped bare of Leviathan's gifts and reduced to being a simple man, bleeding copiously, he was too weak to pick up the pieces.

At least, for the time being.

Despite his inevitably fatal injury, he wasn't gone from this world yet. He shuffled his body around until he was on his knees, using his free hand to push himself up, he forced himself to stand on a pair of weakened legs beneath his blood-stained cassock.

More memories struck like lightning as he stumbled through the corridors of the hospital. Vivid flashes of a vague memory...a derelict landscape lay before him. Corpses littered the scarred ground from all sides. Distant shouts were muffled as he staggered forward, hoping to find a meaning behind all this. His legs buckled and quivered, threatening to give way from beneath, but the soldier he once was...he persisted on. He knew that if he collapsed now, that really would be the end of it all.

He was so weak, he had almost forgotten he was human again. Was he though? He had the shell of one. But he still retained the memories of his time as the Hell Prince, whereas, there was nothing but vague flashes and images of his human years. Or...were they the images flashing in his mind? His mind rattled, trying to find answers. But all he saw was red and dark.

He stumbled around for what felt like hours. The path he staggered along was soon painted with his blood, cascading down his slit throat like droplets of rain.

There was something still calling out to him. It was faint, and it seemed to grow quiet with each passing second. It spurred him on, carrying him until he was walking without thinking. He couldn't even tell if he was breathing anymore. For a split-second, he thought he saw others dashing past. They were like shadows on the wall, marching onward with guns and decked in army uniforms. He didn't have time to ponder the meaning. He was still being called. _Something_ was beckoning him onward.

He clung to life for a little while longer, fearing that he was too late as he was overwhelmed by a blinding light and a feeling of weightlessness. Then, images faded into normality. The white light disappeared, and he scanned the area to find himself back in the hospital. He recalled earlier; the many schisms that had been opened by the mental patients exploited by Channard. Earlier, he had elected to ignore their calls. They were not summoning the Cenobites out of desire. But now, those schisms were his last salvation.

He tried to lift his leg, but it felt like lead. Stumbling forward, he almost collapsed against a wall. His blood-stained hand prevented a fall. Using the wall as a leverage, he guided himself blindly down the corridors.

Finding his way through a doorway, he could no longer tell which realm he was stumbling through.

With each step he took, more memories would follow.

Then he pictured Kirsty once more as he turned a corner in the labyrinth of hospital corridors.

_Kirsty_.

Sweet, clever, Kirsty.

That beautiful and resourceful young woman enticed him like no other before. Her image faded briefly, replaced with unfamiliar, hardened faces of men venturing into fire and bullets. He almost wanted to cry out. Beg for answers. But his voice was long gone, lost in the trail of blood that he left behind.

He almost lost his footing as he came through another schism. He glanced upwards, hoping that his fading vision would remain focused long enough for him to see where his final resting place would be. His body finally gave way, causing him to stumble and fall for the last time. Instantly, he felt something soft and wet. The putrid stench of blood filled his nostril, but it not his own. It was much too congealed and stale to be his.

Julia's mattress still lay bloody and unattended within the room which Channard had used as a shrine to the Lament Configuration, and now he was lying upon what was used as a portal to raise Kirsty's former stepmother.

Out of energy, and uncaring of where he had ended up, he finally relented and slumped down across the mattress where one of many doors to his realm lay within.

Before his last breath was drawn, his thoughts dwelled upon Kirsty...and of the distant memories of death and pain that plagued him. Trying to cast those dark thoughts away, the memories split, fragmented and seeded into different paths. For the former Dark Prince, in that final second, he could perfectly paint the scenes of the haunting images of a ravaged war-torn landscape, as well as the life he had lived prior to the horrors of war...of the upstanding, eloquent English gentleman he had been before the war had destroyed every last fragment of his very soul.

And he had Kirsty to thank for that. Kirsty, the brave young girl who stayed in his thoughts until the last bit of life he fought in vain to keep faded from within him.

No longer overwhelmed with an abundance of human emotions, he felt a sudden wash of clarity and harmony, and then a sudden pull of gravity within the mattress, before the light went out of his eyes.

Unsure as he was of Leviathan's intentions for him, he allowed himself to muse before darkness swept over him...perhaps one day, he would meet with the tenacious young Kirsty again.

**_The End_**

* * *

**_Hope you enjoyed. Sorry to those who were expecting some Pinsty/Elsty to occur. Maybe I could write a version with Kirsty involved? Or...perhaps a follow-up chapter? We'll see. :D_**


End file.
